


fine, i'll write a flower shop au

by 1000_directions



Series: mcu kink bingo [8]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Blow Jobs, Clint Is Great At Flowers, Clint Is Great At Romance, Dubious Science, Established Relationship, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 12:28:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18468991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000_directions/pseuds/1000_directions
Summary: Undercover missions were easier before Clint had a boyfriend to miss.





	fine, i'll write a flower shop au

**Author's Note:**

> Squares filled:
> 
> mcukinkbingo: Absence Makes The Heart Grow Fonder  
> clintbartonbingo: flower shop AU  
> buckybarnesbingo: AU: Flower Shop

Clint’s job at the flower shop is a cover. Obviously. It’s right across the street from the laundromat that the Russian mafia is using as a front for their more illicit activities, and like, really? They’re _literally_ laundering their money. Clint’s almost impressed by how brazen they’re being.

“Do you even know anything about flowers?” Nat asks as she discreetly mounts a long-range parabolic microphone behind the door where hopefully no one will see it.

“Sure,” Clint lies, taping a set of knives to the counter under the cash register. “I’m great at flowers.”

“Okay, then what kind are those?” she asks, gesturing at a cluster of...something...in the display window.

“Yellow?” Clint says uncertainly. “Yellow flowers. Listen, no one’s going to come in here, Nat. This isn’t a very hearts and flowers part of town. I’m just going to monitor some bad guys and catch up on episode of Dog Cops.”

“You’re going to get murdered by a Russian mobster because you gave him hyacinths instead of hydrangeas,” she mutters under her breath.

“Hey, no, that’s a trick!” Clint says triumphantly. “Hydrangeas are definitely made-up.”

She stares at him for a long minute, and then she says flatly, “You’re going to need _so_ many more hidden weapons.”

She stays for another hour, making sure there are no surveillance blindspots, ensuring that he’s never more than a few feet away from a close-range weapon. She’s definitely making a big deal out of nothing; this is a cushy gig that he’s going to snooze through.

Still, he appreciates her help and her misguided concern, so just before she leaves, he bows deeply and presents her with a single red flower, saying, “A rose of gratitude for all your assistance.”

“That’s a carnation, you dumbass,” she says tiredly, but she takes the flower anyway and kisses his cheek. “Please don’t die.”

“I can’t promise anything,” he says with a shrug. She tucks the flower behind her ear and gives the shop one last sweep. He’s going to miss her. He suspects he’s going to be pretty lonely on this mission.

*

What Clint didn’t count on was that Russian mobsters are apparently incapable of being faithful to their wives. And, more importantly, they’re fucking awful at not being caught. To his surprise, his little shop starts doing fairly brisk business with apology bouquets. Luckily, no one ever seems to care exactly what they’re buying, as long as it’s somewhat extravagant and expensive, so Clint is okay at winging it, once he figures out how to work the damn cash register.

_Miss you._

The text comes through a week into Clint’s assignment, from a number that he doesn’t recognize. He knows who it’s from, though, just like he knows that there’s no use in replying because the phone is surely a burner that’s already been destroyed. Clint isn’t supposed to send or receive personal messages when he’s undercover, but there’s no stopping some people.

And it’s an irresponsible risk for such a small message, but damn if it doesn’t make his dopey heart skip a beat to see those words.

“Miss you, too,” Clint murmurs to himself, and then he gets back to pretending to sweep the sidewalk in front of the store.

*

Some days at the store are busy, and Clint spends all his time running around after customers, trying to project just enough competence at this job to keep his cover intact while not drawing unnecessary attention to himself. Some days are busy across the street, and he pores over hours of video footage, making careful notes on who enters the laundromat and how long they stay and who they leave with.

And some days are quieter. And he half-heartedly rearranges the front window display, and he throws out dead flowers and replaces them with new ones. And his thoughts drift a little bit, and he just gets lonely in a way he never used to before. And he thinks about casual touches to his wrist, wry comments and non sequitur text messages, soft kisses on his forehead for no reason in particular. Undercover missions were easier before he had a boyfriend to miss.

 _Miss you_. He gets a text every few days, always from a different number. And he can’t say anything back, can’t communicate that this sucks for him, too. But he likes being reminded that someone cares about him. It’s the kind of thing his brain forgets when he goes too long without reassurance, that he _is_ special to someone, that someone _does_ give a shit if he’s okay or not. It’s only two words, but it proves that he’s...part of something.

*

One day, some idiot actually pays for his bouquet with blood-stained cash, and the blood connects the mob to a local politician who was brutally murdered a few months ago, so Clint finally gets to start closing up shop. He needs to hang around for another week to avoid suspicion, but the end is in sight, and he can’t wait to get home to his dog and his coffee and his sex life.

Finally, it’s the last day of business, just an hour before the shop is due to close for good. So of course, that’s when he gets his first ever web order. Honestly, he didn’t even realize the website was functional, but someone out there has actually ordered a single sunflower for pick-up. Clint grumbles to himself about it, but it’s already paid for, and all the unclaimed flowers are getting thrown out anyway, so he sets aside the sunflower and continues to move the rest of the remaining stock to the backroom for easier disposal.

Time ticks by and no one comes to claim the flower. Finally, just as he’s watching the last five seconds of this cover-story tick down, he sees the flashing light that tells him someone has walked into the shop. He looks over to the door, and--

“Hi,” Bucky says softly. “I ordered a flower?”

Clint’s heart stutters in his chest, because fuck, it’s _Bucky_. After three months, it’s Bucky, here in the store, looking like a goddamn dream in his tight jeans and hoodie, his usual stubble grown out into a neat beard that Clint wants to rub his face all over.

“Here you go,” Clint says, stunned, handing Bucky the only remaining flower in the showroom. Bucky’s metal fingers brush Clint’s hand, and he shivers at the simple contact.

“Is this a sunflower?” Bucky asks, squinting at it suspiciously.

“Yes? I don’t know. It’s yellow?”

“It is yellow,” Bucky agrees.

He takes a step closer, and Clint’s eyes flutter shut with anticipation, and he barely has time to take a breath before he feels the gentle brush of Bucky’s lips over his. God, he missed feeling this mouth against his own. Something tight in his chest loosens slightly as Bucky licks at his lower lip, and even as Clint accepts Bucky’s tongue eagerly into his mouth, it feels like he’s breathing easier for the first time in months.

“I missed you,” Bucky whispers against Clint’s lips, and all Clint can do is nod.

Bucky kisses him again, a collection of soft and warm and chaste presses of his mouth to the corner of Clint’s lips as he pulls away and then returns for one more, just one more, over and over. And then Clint feels Bucky step back, so he reluctantly opens his eyes and tries to catch his breath again.

Bucky extends his arm to Clint, handing him the sunflower. “For you, sweetheart.”

“Shut up,” Clint mumbles. He flushes at the nickname, but he takes the flower anyway. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Whatever you want,” Bucky says, and he tilts his head so that a lock of hair falls across his eyes, and he’s so fucking sexy that Clint is going to lose his mind. “Just figured I should make a romantic gesture before I fucked your brains out over the counter of this fine retail establishment.”

“Uh huh,” Clint manages to say, licking his lips. “Wait, no. This is a _flower shop_. We can be more romantic that than.”

“What are you gonna do, seduce me on a bed of rose petals?”

“Roses have thorns,” Clint says snippily, even though that was exactly what he was going to do. “Hang on. Don’t go anywhere.”

He sprints to the backroom, and yes, he still has a bucket full of carnations because it turns out that no one likes the only flower that Clint can reliably identify. He brings the bucket back out to the showroom and overturns it, kicking the wilting flowers around with his sneaker until they form a reasonable pile.

“There,” Clint says. “Get naked and lie down in that.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, but he efficiently starts undressing, pulling off his hoodie and T-shirt in a way that puts all of his chest muscles on display to their best effect, thumbing at the button of his jeans as he kicks off his boots. He makes short work of his clothing, and then he’s just glorious and naked and half-hard as he gets to his knees and gracefully lowers himself onto the flowers, propped up on his side with his legs splayed and his face cradled in his metal hand.

“Is this how you want me?” Bucky asks, lazily trailing his right hand over his own chest.

“ _Fuck_ me,” Clint says emphatically, quickly yanking off his own shirt. His pants are halfway down his thighs before he remembers. “Oh shit, the cameras.”

Clint sprints to the console behind the counter, only tripping over his pants once before kicking them off, ignoring Bucky’s alarmed cry of “What _cameras_?” as he disables all the surveillance equipment. He leaves his sunflower on the counter for safekeeping, and then he runs back to the front in just his boxers, hurriedly pulling down the front window shade and locking the door before he saunters back to Bucky, trying to make it look sexy and intentional.

“The _door_ was unlocked?” Bucky says in disbelief. “You told me to get naked with cameras on and the door to your retail shop _unlocked_?”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” Clint mutters, wriggling out of his boxers. “They’re not transmitting, and we’ll delete the data before we leave. Your virtue is still intact.” Finally naked, he plops down onto the flowers next to Bucky, which is...a terrible idea. “Fucking _ow_ , I thought this would be more cushiony.”

“I don’t think we’re very good at being romantic,” Bucky says, placing his hand on Clint’s side, and his palm is so warm and tender against Clint’s hungry skin.

“I’m great at romance,” Clint murmurs, and he takes Bucky’s face in both hands and then slithers on top of him, kissing him deep and eager, swallowing down Bucky’s amused huff of breath and the moan that follows, kissing him as he feels Bucky harden against his thigh, kissing him until Bucky’s hands are roaming all over his skin, scratching at his shoulders and soothing down his back, squeezing at his ass as Bucky rocks up against him and groans against his lips.

“I don’t know if this is romantic,” Bucky says when he pulls back for air, pupils blown and lips slick and swollen, “but you’re definitely great at it.”

“You’re just being sweet so I’ll suck you off,” Clint says. He doesn’t know if that’s what Bucky is actually doing, but his mouth misses the weight of his cock, and he’s happy to steer events in that direction.

“Maybe I’m being sweet because I love you,” Bucky says, and Clint snorts. “Okay, shut up, you’re the one who wanted romance.”

“It’s just my way,” Clint says, reaching for a carnation. “Just my natural romantic essence shining through, babe.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Bucky grumbles, and then he sighs softly as Clint runs the bloom of the flower lightly over his nipples. “Okay, that feels kinda nice.”

 

“You have a really nice body,” Clint says conversationally, rolling onto his side so that he can drag the carnation lower down Bucky’s torso, running it teasingly over his abs. “You look like someone who really takes care of himself.”

“Sure,” Bucky says breathlessly. “I could take care of you, too, sweetheart.”

“Missed this body,” Clint says, resting his cheek on Bucky’s hip so that he’s eye level with his beautiful cock. He delicately touches the carnation to the head of Bucky’s dick, twirling the stem so the petals catch his foreskin as he lightly trails the flower down his shaft, and Bucky moans and shivers and tries to thrust against nothing. “Does it feel nice here, too? You seem eager, babe.”

“Missed you,” Bucky manages to say. “Missed your mouth.”

“What, this old thing?” Clint presses a soft kiss to the base of Bucky’s dick, and it flexes as Bucky whimpers and trembles. “I missed you. Missed tasting you.” He abandons the flower, pushing Bucky’s legs apart to settle between them, running his hand soothingly along Bucky’s inner thigh as he gets in close, nosing over his balls.

“I’m all sweaty,” Bucky protests weakly. “Ran all the way here.”

“You’re perfect,” Clint murmurs, breathing in the familiar musk and the sweat and the sex of him. “Fresh as a daisy.”

“Like you even know what a daisy smells like,” Bucky mutters, then he cuts himself off with a broken moan as Clint delicately flicks his tongue over his perineum.

“If I get you off now,” Clint says, “can you get it up again to fuck me over the counter?”

“Probably,” Bucky says dazedly. “Yeah, yeah I think so.”

“You’d better,” Clint says, scraping his teeth along Bucky’s sensitive inner thigh until he whines and tries to clamp his legs shut. Clint ruffles his fingers through Bucky’s leghair and pushes his thighs apart again. “I’m gonna make you come so hard you see stars, babe, and I expect to be repaid in kind.”

“Sure thing,” Bucky pants. “Clint, _please_.”

“I already said I was gonna,” Clint grumbles. He licks his palm and then wraps his hand around the base of Bucky’s dick, warm and hard in his hand, and he ignores the way Bucky’s hips stutter.

“If you don’t get me off, I will actually kill you,” Bucky grits between his teeth, and Clint rolls his eyes.

“You bought me a _flower_ ,” Clint reminds him. “You’re in _love_ with me.” And just saying that out loud makes him feel all weird and fluttery and happy, so he relents and swallows Bucky’s dick down without any warning.

Bucky tends to come pretty quick the first time, especially when it’s been a while. It’s a weird quirk of the serum that they’re still trying to figure out. Bucky thinks his body might just be wired to climax as efficiently as possible, and he can’t exactly reason with his autonomic nervous system that taking things a little bit slower to savor the sensation is the whole _point_ of it. His supersoldier stamina doesn’t really kick in until he gets hard the second time, so Clint likes to get him off once, just to take the edge off and get him relaxed, and then he’s good to fuck for _hours_ , if Clint can stand it.

He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stand it today, but he’s excited to try.

Clint can tell Bucky’s already pretty close from the desperate noises he makes and the way his hips are restless and jerky, and he hums happily around his cock, already looking forward to getting completely railed and stretched out and ruined on the counter. If there’s one thing they both know for certain, it’s that Clint Barton can take a pounding, no problem.

But just because it’s easy to get Bucky off fast doesn’t mean Clint isn’t going to take pride in his work. No, this is serious to him, and while he bobs shallowly on Bucky’s cock, just trying to ease into a rhythm, he feels for Bucky’s hands and guides them to his head. And when he feels Bucky’s fingers sink into his hair, he puts his own hands behind his back and lets gravity push him further down onto Bucky’s cock. He knows what Bucky likes: wet and slick with lots of pressure, punishingly fast. And Clint is _romantic_ , so if that means dislocating his jaw so he can slurp all the way down Bucky’s frankly ridiculous length while extending his tongue just that extra bit so he can lick Bucky’s balls while he’s choking on his dick, holding it for as long as he can bear before pulling back a little and fingerspelling _O-K_ against Bucky’s hip so he knows it’s all right to fuck Clint’s face, then so be it. He’s a _gentleman_ , dammit.

So he relaxes his throat and keeps still and lets Bucky hold him in place and use his mouth to get off, and fuck, he loves this, loves the feeling of being useful and used, loves giving Bucky what he needs, loves when Bucky gives in and lets himself _take_ it from Clint. He can tell from Bucky’s erratic breathing that he’s close, so close, and Clint takes him in hand again and lets Bucky slide out of his mouth.

“So fucking hot, babe,” Clint murmurs, jacking Bucky’s dick in earnest. “So hot when you come. Missed that. Missed you.”

“I’m close,” Bucky mumbles, and he sounds half delirious, and he’s thrusting so feverishly into Clint’s grasp that he’s almost thrashing.

“Do you wanna come on my face?”

“What?” Bucky asks, blinking rapidly.

“I mean, you can’t,” Clint says quickly, “because that’s gross, so don’t do it. I was just wondering if you wanted to. We’ve never discussed it.”

“Can you… _What_?” Bucky asks again, and his face is flushed and his voice is so confused, and Clint takes pity on him and leans down to lick at his balls, long broad strokes of his tongue over Bucky’s tight hot skin until he comes with a startled cry, shooting off somewhere over Clint’s shoulder that is happily _not_ his face.

“You’re sexy,” Clint says, tenderly kissing Bucky’s balls before popping his head up to look at his face. “I mean you, not your balls. They’re sexy, too. You’re sexy everywhere. But I meant you. You’re sexy.”

“Shut up?” Bucky says, sounding bewildered.

“I genuinely don’t think I can,” Clint says.

Bucky gets jittery and riled up after he comes, and it takes him a few minutes to recalibrate. So Clint runs his hands soothingly over Bucky’s thighs, which serves dual purposes of helping to calm him down and helping to work Clint up, because hello, _thighs_ , the sexiest of all leg muscle groups.

He makes a sad sound when he notices the white stains on the purple flowers. “Babe, you came on the carnations.”

“I didn’t have a lot of options,” Bucky says defensively. “Besides, I think they were headed to the trash the moment you decided we were going to have sex on them.”

“I was trying to be romantic,” Clint says morosely, curling into Bucky’s side and pressing his head to his chest.

“You were great, sweetheart,” Bucky says softly. His hands are in Clint’s hair again, petting at the back of his neck, tracing the sweat of his hairline. “If you give me like five minutes to catch my breath, I promise we can get real romantic on the counter, if you still want to.”

“I love you,” Clint says to Bucky’s sternum, to Bucky’s solid heartbeat under his cheek. Then he raises his head, and Bucky looks back at him with a tenderness that is overwhelming.

“Love you, too,” Bucky says. “Seriously, just like five minutes.”

It takes him ten, but he gives Clint two orgasms in two hours to make up for it.

**Author's Note:**

> (it was a daffodil)
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr post](http://1000-directions.tumblr.com/post/184189559059/title-fine-ill-write-a-flower-shop-au-link-ao3)


End file.
